All of Me
by DevlinV1
Summary: [FIN:2004:Follow up to Not Yours Anymore] Three years have passed since everything that took place between Rob, Shannon, and Matt. Three years Jeff has lived without his brother by his side, and it has finally taken its toll.


**All of Me**

**By Archangel**

_A/N: This is a follow up to "Not Yours Anymore." It contains spoilers of the other story. I suggest you read it first._

I'm staring blankly once again at absolutely nothing and I'm completely aware of that fact, but I don't care. I know what I must look like at this moment. My head is lowered a bit, chin tilted down, but my eyes are turned up to look straight ahead, almost rolled back into my head. It makes me feel half-lidded, but wide-eyed all at once. It hurts after a while, but I don't care about that either. I don't care about anything anymore. I haven't for a long time now. Not since he left me. Not since he gave in and put himself to death.

It's been so long now. Nearly three years. Three years since I received word that my brother was dead, possibly murdered, possibly having committed suicide. As soon as I heard it I knew it was suicide. I knew before the phone ever rang. I had felt him die. I fell to my knees in my empty house, clutching at my chest as if I was having a heart attack, feeling my brother be torn from this world, from his body, from my soul.

Never mind that it was Rob who made that fatal cut that caused Matt to bleed to death. It wasn't his fault. He did as he had been asked by both Matt and Shannon, sealing a series of oaths that had to be seen through. They had set my brother free from the suffering he was enduring and causing to others. Too bad they hadn't stopped to consider the pain of another. Me. My pain. My suffering. My need to be free.

Three years. Three years since I stood in an uncomfortable suit staring down into a deep hole in the ground where my brother's body had been put. He was encased in that beautiful mahogany box, ready to be sealed away from me forever by so much moist earth. Three years ago I completely snapped in a fit of mournful rage and agony in front of all my friends and family and tried to throw myself into that hole with him. How I screamed when they pulled me back. I kicked and struggled and punched as they pulled me away from his grave and to the nearest car to shove me into the backseat. I still screamed and fought to get away from them, to get back to Matt, but for some reason my body gave up soon. My screams became howling sobs and I ended up being cradled in the arms of Jay and Adam until I passed out.

That didn't stop me. The very next day I was there again, on my knees beside the freshly filled grave, clawing at the dirt in hopes of digging down to him. I actually envisioned opening the coffin, crawling in beside him and dropping the lid down on us both. Maybe no one would look inside even though the grave was dug up. Maybe I'd suffocate before they had a chance to save me and then they'd just leave me there so I could stay with Matt for all eternity. That day it was Shannon who stopped me. He had dragged me back, fought with me until he'd pinned me down, and sat on my chest as I screamed at him to let me go on with my business. I remember still how he only stared at me, tears rolling down his cheeks, completely silent. Only stared and waited for me to stop. He must've known because sure enough I started to bawl like a child again. That was when he leaned down over me and held me, still not letting me up, but held me and cuddled me until I was ready to go back home.

I'd spent the next month in bed. I lost so much weight from not eating. Once again it was Shannon who saved me from suicide. He reminded me of all Matt and I had done for him when his father had died, how hard we had fought to keep him alive and help him through the agony. He told me that to this day he still hurt and ached for his father, still missed him, but was fine. He convinced me that I would be fine someday too. He understood I'd never lost anyone so close to me before. I was too young when my mother had died. No one else was as close as Matty. He understood my broken heart and my empty soul. He kept me alive.

But he lied. He lied about me being okay. To this day I can barely function. I can't go through one single day without bursting into tears at least once. The smallest things remind me of him. Never mind that his pictures decorate my home as they always did, never mind that the very mention of wrestling could stop my heart dead. It's the stupidest small things that make me go crazy. Like finding a shirt of his that I had borrowed ages ago and never returned. Or looking into the backyard and seeing a haunting shadow similar to the one he would cast, thinking of when he and I would goof around in my yard. Or how about finding an old cassette tape of him singing a song in my studio? The one and only song I'd ever coaxed out of him and kept secret all this time. These small insignificant things have the power to send me into fits of rage, destroying everything in my house, or screaming cries that leave me without voice for days afterwards.

In fact I'm in that condition right now as I continue to stare lifelessly at a plant on my kitchen table. My throat is still raw from yesterday's screaming when I discovered a buried treasure in my newly dug bike track. I found a bracelet we had all thought lost eons ago, belonging to Matt, which he had apparently broken while helping me dig out part of a trail. Honestly I don't think the bracelet would've caused such response in me if not for one thing. The moment I had found it I laughed and thought how amused Matt would be when I showed it to him and told him where I'd found it. Then I remembered that he was dead. And it still feels like I've lost him all over again. I had honestly forgotten he was gone.

That's what has made my decision for me. It's been three years now and I still have not healed in the slightest. I cannot function without him. Every single day he is with me, but I am completely alone. He haunts me. He calls my name sometimes through these echoing halls. I hear him at night, waking me from my sleep, calling me from the kitchen like he always would when he had made a late night snack for us. He won't leave me alone. I hate him for it. I can't stand the feelings he's making me have. I can't hate him just because he's dead, but I do. I hate him for being sick. I hate him for giving up. I hate him for dying. And I hate him for staying here with me.

Last night he even slept by my side, curled his arms tight around my waist and pressed his face into my hair to breathe in my scent. I was wide awake when he did it. It wasn't a dream. He laid beside me and held me as I began to cry for him again, held me as I cursed him, held me as I finally fell asleep from exhaustion like I have every night since he died.

I know now what I must do. There's only one way he and I can be at peace. His spirit still wanders here because he wants to be with me. I wander as lost as he in this world, searching forever for a way to be with him. There's only one way. I have to follow him. I have to give myself to him. He already has all of me, but I'm bound to this physical shell that holds me on this plane. I have to shake the mortal coil.

I look down at the shining black metal object in front of me. I've been contemplating it for hours now. Matty's been watching me from the corner of the kitchen, watching and waiting to see what I'll do. I know he's torn. So am I. He wants me to come to him, but he also has the desire to see me live. I've explained it to him already, though. I think he understands that this is no way for me to live. And life is something I no longer desire. I only want Matt. I want him to hold me, to dry my tears, to ease my pain, to hold my hand. And I want to do all of that to him in return.

I take the gun into my hand finally, looking it over carefully. I turn off the safety. I double check to insure it's loaded properly. One bullet. Hopefully I won't miss. That would be just my luck. I look up at the empty corner where I know Matt is leaning against the counter. He would always do that so there's no doubt in my mind that he's there right now.

"If you have any good reason or want for me to not do this, tell me now. Give me some sort of sign that I have to live if you think it must be that way. Don't delay, Matty."

I stared at his place, waiting patiently for only a few moments before nodding, tightening my grip on the pistol and putting it to my temple. Before I had even had a chance to put my finger over the trigger I felt a brush against my lips. I pointed the barrel at the ceiling and waited. The touch came again, this time a little harder. Hard enough in fact to part my lips. I couldn't help but grin.

"Of course. What was I thinking?"

The kick of the pistol could cause my hand to jerk. Holding it to my temple I would risk missing my target. Matt was so smart. I shook my head slightly and chuckled.

"Just like doing the double guns with only one hand. Only this time is the last time."

I tilted my head back, leaning back to relax into the wooden chair as much as I could. I held my arms out to the side, a real gun in one hand, my fingers shaped into a fake one on the other hand. Slowly I raised them both as I had done so many times before, bringing them up to my mouth where I would've usually been screaming and snarling at a crowd of screaming fans. Instead I was smiling happily. I dropped one hand lazily to the side, taking the barrel past my lips and angling it up to point towards the top of my head. My finger slid over the trigger smoothly for a moment before I began to tighten my grip. Remember kiddies, squeeze. Don't pull.

**The End**

_Legalities: Jeff Hardy, Matt Hardy, and any other mentioned characters are property of World Wrestling Entertainment. I claim no knowledge of each of the characters sexual preferences or lives. This is a story of fiction, none of these events are real. I received absolutely no profit from this story._


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